


Five Times Lorne Gets a Tattoo

by ladyflowdi



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: 5 Things, Backstory, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-15
Updated: 2008-12-15
Packaged: 2017-12-24 14:04:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/940846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyflowdi/pseuds/ladyflowdi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first tattoo Evan gets, he’s sixteen years old and a good boy with nothing to prove.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Lorne Gets a Tattoo

**Author's Note:**

> Part of my LJ-to-AO3 project.

The first tattoo Evan gets, he’s sixteen years old and a good boy with nothing to prove. It’s an X-Wing fighter, complete with little miniature Luke Skywalker. The guy who does it is shit, but it doesn’t matter -- sixteen is old enough to know deep things about yourself, and Evan knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that he wants to be Luke Skywalker when he grows up. 

The second tattoo, a year and a half after the first and a variation on the theme, he had done while the ink was still drying on his enlistment papers. He celebrates his newfound step into manhood by tattooing the Air Force logo onto his left shoulder, right next to Luke Skywalker. It’s bright blue and metallic looking and about ten seconds after he gets it done, he hates it. 

The third tattoo is St. Jude, high on his back on the right. The saint’s book is distorted by the bullet wound it covers up. Evan doesn’t like to talk about it, and it would be years before he finally took a good look at it in the mirror.

“And that one?”

Evan glances over his shoulder, because Sergeant McKinley is a nice kid and all, but, “Shouldn’t you be concentrating on what you’re doing?”

“Yes’sir,” McKinley says, a smile in his voice. “Just wondering what the hell overcame you to get a pansy assed sorta-flower. Sir.”

Yeah, well, the fourth tattoo hadn’t exactly been his finest moment. “You know how I was on Edwards’ team before coming to Atlantis?”

“Sure,” McKinley says, and wipes at Evan’s shoulder. “The naquadah mining thing, right, with the Unas?”

Just thinking about it made his face heat up. “Yeah. Well, turns out the Unas were pretty pissed off after we sort of desecrated their land and all, and one of their conditions was…” He waves a hand. “They wouldn’t let us mine unless we were marked.”

“Seems pretty far to go for God and country, sir, if you don’t mind my saying.”

Evan closes his eyes. “Just another shit tattoo to add to my shit collection.”

“Hey,” McKinley says, grinning again. “Your shit collection till now, sir.” He wipes one last time, then gives Evan a mirror.

On his shoulder, the crappy-assed blue Air Force insignia has been transformed into the gleaming spires of Atlantis. The flower has disappeared, re-inked and shadowed dark, no more than a rolling wave under Atlantis, thrusting up into morning sky. Atlantis covers the whole upper right side of his back, her spires sliding over onto his shoulder where, instead of flying low in an X-Wing, Luke Skywalker has taken up residence in a Jumper, complete with the soft, glowing blue of the thrusters. 

It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen in his life.

“Well, damn, McKinley,” Evan says, smiling in an effort to hide the sudden gruffness of his voice. “You missed your calling.”

“If they’d have let me enlist as a tattoo artist, I would have.” He wipes again, applying a thin layer of antibacterial ointment, and begins covering the tattoo up. 

Evan sits up, carefully pulls his shirt on. His skin is burning, the prickling of nerves tingling along his skull, the back of his neck, down his legs. It’s a familiar sensation. “Thanks for helping me out.”

“Yes’sir. It’s been my experience that Atlantis has a way of making anything beautiful.”

Evan glances at him, grins. “Pretty deep for a jarhead.”

“Yes’sir,” McKinley says, grinning back. 

“You know the best part?”

“What’s that, sir?”

“I’ve just become a threat to national security.”

McKinley lets out a big, deep belly laugh, and Evan grins, because the boy doesn’t laugh nearly enough, and because, well damn, it’s pretty funny.

That night, after he’s showered, Evan takes the bandages off and takes a good look at Atlantis, sweeping over his skin. She seems to be looking over his shoulder, keeping him safe, her beauty and magnificence so textural and real that it’s like carrying her with him wherever he goes. Something in him, something restless and anxious, relaxes.

St. Jude looks on from the other side, and Evan reaches back to sweep his fingers across his distorted book for the first time in ages. 

“Lost causes my ass,” he murmurs, and goes to get ready for bed.


End file.
